


Portable

by smileyfacegauges



Category: original character - Fandom
Genre: Drabble, Gen, One Shot, Original Character - Freeform, Original work - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 14:42:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18523633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smileyfacegauges/pseuds/smileyfacegauges
Summary: It’s not exactly like Tad had planned since kindergarten that he wanted to own a port-a-potty business. He wanted to be a movie star. He wanted his name in lights and printed in large letters on playbills and dazzling marquis.Instead, he was known as the Party Pooper.





	Portable

Tad was, more or less, home.

He awoke with a start. His body instantly began its complaints, starting in the knees, listing grievances of aching soreness that went along with needing to be stretched. So he did, as much as the creaking strain of his weight-sunk driver’s seat allowed and there was a groan of the heavy plastic as he tried to push his dirt caked shoes into the pedal box. A long, tired, heavy grunt rumbled in his throat as he squeezed his eyes shut, tingles spreading through his thighs as the muscles tightened and blood rushed through them, then collapsed his body with a sigh.

The morning was blue in the field. He squinted grumpily out the window, and tapped his almost cylindrical cap brim high on his forehead. The field was brown with mud and flecked with dead grass. It was peaceful, and would remain so for another hour until trucks heavy with wares would arrive and indent the ground with tracks. 

Tad drove his dirty fist into his eye. He rubbed the crust from the corner as the galaxy burst behind his eyelid, and then invented new stars when he switched. His hand dropped like an anchor to his lap. Fuck mornings. Fuck sleeping in his car. Fuck waking up in his car.

It took him three whole minutes to will himself to open his eyes again and stare groggily at the wheel. Heaving a worldly sigh he fumbled in the cup holder for his phone and frowned at the screen. It was blank save for the time. 

The cab smelled of grass, stale dirt, and the last hope of a citrus air freshener stuck between the air vents. He hated the citrus scent; it made him feel sick. He’d have preferred pine or peppermint, but he’s stuck to citrus for the last ten years. It was the same brand and flavor that was with him when he had that collision on the freeway over by the airport. It was the smell that was beneath his nose, that he inhaled to keep him conscious while he waited for the crews to pick him from the wreckage.

Ten years ago, it was 11:45pm and he was merging. His trailer was packed with rows of bright yellow port-a-potties like a dense block of apartments. He’d been up for more than 24 hours at that point, and he really just wanted to get home. His haul was his career and his career was very dirty work, especially that night, when the load had yet to be cleaned, no thanks to Harold.

Fucking Harold. The idiot arrived as the lot owner was huffing and puffing over how long Tad was taking to load up. Well, Mr. Johnston, it’d go a lot faster if his assistant wasn’t blowing him off across town, and if he had allowed Tad to begin moving before the vendors. He could have been out of there two hours ago. No, this overweight red-faced windbag had ordered him to wait, and why?

The reasons seemed genuine enough. What if a vendor had to make a last run to the bathroom before they shoved off? Sure. Tad understood that. But this man had been abrasive to him from the star. It was the same kind of attitude that janitors, housekeeping, and garbage men were privy to day by day. The ones who were unseen and avoided. They performed necessary functions but they were soiled by the filth of their labors. These people were the grout between the tiles of society and they performed the jobs no one wanted to do, and were forgotten about when the cries of outrage of “They’re taking our jobs!” hollered into the world. 

It’s not exactly like Tad had planned since kindergarten that he wanted to own a port-a-potty business. He wanted to be a movie star. He wanted his name in lights and printed in large letters on playbills and dazzling marquis. 

Instead, he was known as the Party Pooper. When he began to sneak away to parties in high school, he was desperate for approval. Tad had lived a mostly friendless life, people mingling around him with the same air and intent as people waiting at the deli counter. They had some similarities, but once the number was called and the order fulfilled, they drifted away. At the time, Tad tried to spin it in his favor. 

Oh, how he could envision the interviews on the Tonight Show (with Jay Leno!), talking about how he was an outcast, how difficult it was for him. Now he was famous and everyone wanted to be his friend, and Jay would remark how humble he is, and Tad would chuckle shyly and shrug. People would flock to him and they would all say the same thing: how intuitive you are, Tad Bitt! You’re such a good listener! You’re so humble and caring, and funny to boot! How could you not have had friends?

So in the humidity of packed rooms of sweating, drunk, unruly teenagers and music fit to cause hearing problems later in life, he daydreamed, and hoped that tonight was the night that someone would talk to him.

Unfortunately, Tad could never get into the swing of carefree revelry. He was raised strictly, and though the percentage of rebellion was sky high in most cases, he remained bleak. Underage drinking, sloppy kissing and poorly coordinated groping made him anxious. And it was all around him at these parties. Tad wanted to have fun and cut loose, and he was trapped in a personal glass box of hyperawareness at the illegality of it all.

Fame came to him one night. He was a junior in high school. The party was at a local faire. It wasn’t set to be operational until that following afternoon, but as the teens decided, they were going to have a midnight test run. It was a race against time: the clanking of rides and blazing lights were going to attract attention. A betting pool was formed, with nearly six hundred dollars and a bottle of expensive scotch nicked from someone’s dad’s cabinet was the prize.

Tad had pitched in $10. He was going to be hungry for a week at lunchtime, but it was a drop in the bucket for the potential of finally making friends. This was a big event, planned in utmost secrecy for two weeks, and eagerly awaited the moment the idea was pitched. 

This was the night. He could feel it in the quivering of his heart and the marrow of his bones. This was it. He was taught to trust his gut, and his gut told him that tonight, he’d be remembered; and maybe by even more than on person.

Oh, he was remembered, all right.

Those events marked the first pebble dropped from the cliff. It ricocheted and bounced off dirt and rock and the occasional curiously rooted tree. Then it paused on a jut of stone, and that’s when he came to own Tad O’ Class Portable Toilets.

And that’s why he was late to load up, and why he was on that freeway that night. 

All of that was a piece of the wobbling puzzle that led to him being shouldered by an overworked, overtired trucker in the midst of a heated conversation with his cheating wife as he merged onto the highway. 

Tad Bitt hated citrus air fresheners. He kept them around, because sometimes the things a man hates is what keeps him alive. To him, the necessary evil was good luck.

And every time he thought about it, he was compelled to reach out and twist the cap on it left and right five times – five for the men who pulled him to safety, and for the coincidence of the price of the item. If he needed a new one and they were marked down, he didn’t buy it. It had to be the normal standing price of five dollars (plus tax) or else it would be a bad omen (as proven multiple, heart squeezing times). So Tad treated his ugly good luck charm to five twists.

Then, he sank into his seat, and tried to re-plan his life for the millionth time while he waited for his temporary boss to arrive.


End file.
